Thoughts of Joy, Dreams of Love
by hollandchels
Summary: AU, EC. Christine is the wife of Raoul de Chagny, but their marriage is not picture perfect, and Christine is not the happy girl she once was, but instead a dark oceans of secrets and mystery…can anyone ever get close to her again?
1. Chapter One

A/N: We present to you a work in progress, alternate universe phic. We are currently focusing all our attentions on writing this phic, but even so, updates may not be very frequent. I feel it is necessary to mention that in this phic, Raoul's character is adjusted to fit the needs of the role we have developed for the plot. Apologies to any devout Raoul lovers, but we felt this was an acceptable change since this story is AU. We hope you enjoy.

_**Chapter One: Some consequence yet hanging in the stars shall bitterly begin his fearful date**_

Erik Deveraux entered the foyer of the grand estate of his friend, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, and not a minute had he set foot within the room and begun to admire its design before a stiff, curmudgeonly-looking page was before him and offering to take his coat. Erik relinquished the garment and set his gaze to the site before him: the ballroom of the estate, filled with many happy couples dancing to the gentle, yet, in a way, invigorating waltz that a chamber group made of two violins, a cello, and a flute was playing.

The women seemed to be dressed in every shade of pink and yellow, celebrating the new season of spring, whilst the men restricted themselves to classic grays, browns, but most chiefly, blacks. Many of the women wore merry smiles on their lips, their cheeks slightly flushed as they allowed themselves to be led by their trusted husbands. Erik saw these couples through an indifferent eye; he neither envied them, nor despised them, nor admired them.

Despite all the merriment about him, in which, perhaps, he could have easily joined in, Erik fond himself strongly wishing that he were, instead, in the warm, private drawing room of his home, seated in his chair with a good book, but then, this was no surprise: Erik was a withdrawn person by nature.

Amid the sea of pastel-clad women, one in particular stood out: a short, shapely blonde (who was just beginning to plainly appear pregnant), dressed from head to toe in the most vibrant shade of emerald green; even from across the room, Erik could tell that she was very happy at the moment. The woman was being led by a man of average height dressed in pepper gray, his eyes containing strength and wisdom, but at the same time, love for the woman he held in his arms. Both members of the couple seemed quite jovial.

Erik knew these people to be Baron and Baroness Rudyard and Meg Castelot-Barbezac, Rudyard being a dear friend of his. It was no secret that the couple was deeply in love, nor had Rudyard bothered to keep it much of a secret that he and his wife were expecting their first child. Erik figured that it would be quite difficult, indeed, for the couple to part, but they would have to very soon; both Rudyard and Raoul would be leaving for a naval trip on the very next day, this ball being held in honor of their voyage.

As for the vicomte, Erik had known him not half as long as Rudyard, but Rudyard insisted that he was a decent young man. Erik felt differently. Although the upper society pretended to respect Raoul and his wife, Christine, it was common knowledge that their marriage was falling apart, and Raoul openly slept with other women. Knowing this made Erik quite uncomfortable to meet with the Chagnys when they were together, so, in all honesty, he did his best to avoid such situations.

Currently, Erik spotted Raoul across the dance floor, a woman whom Erik did not recognize in his arms, a rakish smile on lips, as his wife, Christine, sat idle in a chair alongside the wall of the room. At times, the boy disgusted Erik, and he was not afraid to tell Rudyard so, though Rudyard, being a generally kind and forgiving person, pardoned Changy's faults.

As for Erik, although he befriended barons and vicomtes, he himself was nothing great, unless genius and unfathomable artistic ability were considered great in time and place where social status and wealth was everything. Erik had enough money to be comfortable, more than enough, but that was scarcely the focus of his life, nor were silly antics involving making oneself superior to the others in society. No…the true focuses of Erik's quiet life were knowledge, architecture, and the occult…but most of all, music. He had devoted much of his life as possible to music, composing, singing, and playing; it was, indeed, a demanding god, but he did not mind keeping up with its demands, not in the slightest.

He was originally from France, Rouen to be precise, though he traveled a great deal, and had eventually purchased a second home on the outskirts of the city of London. He refrained from residing there as much as possible, as London was not among his favorite places, although he did find it a useful, central location. He was there now only for the sake of the ball, and for the sake of his friends; they had approached him and asked if he could possibly keep a bit of an eye on their wives while they were away, and write them to reassure them that the women were alright. Erik had agreed, though only to help his friends, as he hardly looked forward to watching over two women who likely would not desire his company and an extended stay in London.

Erik continued to watch the couples dance, until the song ended, and a slightly more energetic one began. He then felt it safe to cross the room to where Christine de Chagny sat, alone and rather dejected, though she may have been trying to appear otherwise. He was not quite sure why he wished to greet Christine, as it was not as if they were on close terms, but he supposed she simply appeared too lonely for him to stand at the opposite end of the room and ignore her need for any human contact possible, even be it with him.

As he drew nearer to where she sat, he became increasingly aware of how beautiful she looked. Her silky chocolate curls were drawn up in a loose chignon, some of them tumbling out of it and down her elegant neck. She wore a light blue dress, which Erik knew, already, matched her eyes nearly perfectly, and pure white gloves on hands almost irresistibly small and ladylike.

They had met only once before, and briefly then, even, as Raoul had been quite eager for he and Erik to move on; it had been at Raoul and Christine's wedding, and Erik had stepped up to meet the blushing bride of only fifteen, though Raoul had ended up to be much more interested in wedding wine than introducing his new wife. However, even from that short meeting, her personality and manner had charmed him, though he could not pinpoint why, precisely.

Finally he had reached her. Bowing, he reached for her gloved hand and pressed it to his lips. "Madame de Chagny," he said warmly. "Such a beautiful woman should not sit alone on a night of dancing and enjoyment."

"Why, Monsieur Deveraux." She smiled kindly up at him, and for the first time all evening, as well. "I have not seen you since our wedding, and it has been what? Three years now. How have you been?"

"I have been just fine, I assure you," he said pleasantly. "How have you been? How is Raoul?"

"Yes, he is quite…busy indeed this evening."

"So I've seen," Erik replied delicately. "Madame, you look simply beautiful tonight. A shame that you are being ignored, not that it is my business," he added hastily. _Damn_.

"That is very kind of you, monsieur," she replied warmly with a small smile.

"Not kind, madame, simply true. Well, if you'll excuse me…Dinner should be served soon. Farewell," he said, pressing a second kiss to her hand, before melting away into the no longer dancing crowd.

He was rather kindly, that Erik Deveraux, though the mask was a bit curious, was it not? She had been told by Meg that it was rumored to be hiding some battle wound he had received from some war years and years ago, whereas Raoul had told her that he had been born with some sort of deformity. There was no telling which of the two were correct, however, as Meg had always been one to gossip, and Raoul had always been one to drink.

Where was that husband of hers, anyway? She quickly scanned the ballroom, packed with dozens of delighted couples, for him; she found him with that dreadful Lady Harrington — a snobbish blonde, noticeably younger than Christine's own eighteen years. This was not unusual, no not at all, and it did not faze her in the slightest sense…No, she would not be fazed if Raoul did not even throw her a glance the whole evening, and she did not expect him to stumble to their bedroom until the early hours of the morning, if that.

Next her eyes fell upon Rudyard and Meg. Yes, Meg was her best friend, and yes, she loved her dearly…but she could not help but be…envious of her. Envious of her marriage, envious of her perfect, sweet, affectionate, successful husband, and of course envious of that growing belly of hers…Yes, she admitted it. Christine de Chagny was completely jealous — not to say she was not happy for Meg; she was completely overjoyed for her. She was her best friend, after all; her only, and first friend in London…They had met at Christine's wedding to Raoul three years ago, when she was very new to London, and only fifteen. Meg had been nineteen, twenty-two now, newly a baroness, and three months into her own marriage to Rudyard…They had been inseparable ever since then; without Meg, Christine did not know what she would do with herself.

Her husband, as well as Meg's, was leaving on a mission for the British Navy the following morning, and Christine would be lying if she said she would miss him…no, she would not miss Raoul de Chagny; she felt it safe to say that it would be quite the opposite for Meg, being pregnant, as well as deeply in love…Rudyard had not been able to entertain the idea of Meg living by herself — not by herself, really, but with only the hired help as companionship — for God knows how long their mission would last, so he had arranged for her to stay with Christine until the men's return. Christine had welcomed the idea with open arms; perhaps she could actually have happiness…That would be a blessing, truly. She was happy to see her husband go, though she would not tell a soul…well, with the exception of Meg.

As soon as Erik walked away, leaving Madame de Chagny to her own devices, he wished he had not, for he had very little to do; both of his friends were already engaged in dancing, and he knew no one else.

Most thankfully, just as Erik was pondering whether it would be good form to go to Christine once more, Raoul halted the chamber group, drawing the attention of the dancing couples, and announced that dinner was served.

Erik and the other guests made their way into the grand adjoined dining room. As the apparently less important guests took their seats at the end of the table, Erik was slightly uneasy to find that his seat was near the front, by process of elimination.

Surely enough, he found a placard which, in fancy script, read "Mister Erik Deveraux, guest of honor," two seats down from the head of the table, which Erik assumed would seat Raoul. He breathed a sigh of relief as he read the card in the seat next to his: "Viscountess Christine de Chagny," though he was not sure why, as he had never been much of a dinner conversationalist. Beside him was a card which read "Miss Anne Smith."

Though it was a plain name, the woman who it belonged to certainly was not, Erik discovered as a slightly overweight woman dressed in the most grotesque shade of pink claimed the seat. Anne had flaming red, uncontrollably curly hair, which, in spite of the currently fashion for balls and other special occasions, she had left flowing down her back. Her eyes were a piercing, clear green, her complexion beige. In short, she was the most flamboyant woman Erik had ever set eyes upon.

Turning away from her, not eager to make such an acquaintance, Erik was pleased to find that Rudyard and Meg had taken their seats, Meg directly across from him.

"Erik, my good man," greeted Rudyard warmly.

Erik nodded in quiet acknowledgment. "Rudyard. I trust this evening has gone well for you."

"Oh, yes," he answered loudly, "Meg and I have just been having the most splendid time, haven't we, Meg?"

But Erik wasn't listening to his friend's response, as the Chagnys had just approached the table.

"Madame de Chagny," he said as Christine took her seat beside him, "we meet again so soon."

"Monsieur Deveraux," she greeted warmly, opening her mouth to say more just as her husband walked up to the table, and fell silent, thinking it best not to chance angering him.

Raoul took his seat at the head of the table, throwing Christine a slightly suspicious glance as he did so. She seemed to be getting on quite well with Deveraux, but Raoul's thoughts quickly turned from his wife to the fact that Erik was seated much closer to Lady Harrington than he. He clenched his fists with jealousy, though comforted himself with the fact that between Erik and Danielle sat that cow of a woman, Anne Smith.

All eyes turned expectantly to Raoul, who stared quite blankly back at the crowd, still preoccupied with silent rage at whomever had made the seating arrangements. Finally Rudyard nudged him. "The speech, man," he whispered loudly, causing a few of nearer guests to laugh. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Raoul rose from his seat, cleared his throat, and started in on his prepared speech of welcome and thanks.

Erik's pleasant niceties directed toward Christine were interrupted as Raoul began an obviously rehearsed speech. He smirked slightly; the boy was rather clumsy with words; even he, Erik, could have done better, and he was generally quite uncomfortable in front of crowds, largely due to his mask and what lay beneath it.

Surely enough, as soon as Raoul had taken his seat and salads were served, Anne Smith stole a glance at his masked visage, and frantically began to whisper to the young woman seated beside her, whose name Erik did not care to know. Erik distinctly heard the word "mask." Spirits slightly dampened, he stared down at his salad plate, though had little ambition to eat.

"Do not pay them any mind," Christine murmured as soon as Raoul was occupied with his conversation with Rudyard, "They find most everything worth gossiping about."

"I suppose," he said dully; even these simple words seemed to give the two women more to whisper about. Erik took a long sip of his wine.

"Truly. Do not worry about their mindless chatter, for it is only that: mindless…I do not care to partake in it, though I suppose that is against the rules." She smiled, taking a sip of her wine.

"Rules?" he asked, a bit amused. "What rules? The rules of proper female society?"

She nodded. "Of course. I am not very good at following them though, I must admit."

He smiled. "Oh, never mind. I, at least, value originality."

"Good." She returned his smile. "That is very good, though unfortunately, originality is not held at high value by society's standards."

"Oh, I know that all too well, madame…If you don't mind my asking, what is your accent? I hear traces of my native French (I'm sure that is evident by my own accent), but there is something beyond that."

"I am originally from Sweden; I spent much of my childhood there, and then, when I was around twelve, my father brought me to Paris, where he found work in the opera house there. Even after he passed, they allowed me to continue to live in the opera house and work as a ballet rat, up until I met Raoul; we became engaged, and he brought me to London."

"The Opera Ganier," he said fondly, a smile forming on his lips as his took another sip of wine, though his eyes did not leave her.

"Have you been?"

"Oh, yes. I was one of the chief architects on the building, partners with Ganier…A fine structure, if I do say so myself. But I have not been there in years, I'm afraid."

"Word is that you are quite the traveler, monsieur."

"Yes, I'll admit I've done a bit. I was born in a small town outside Rouen…"

----------

Once Anne Smith had finished the last gooseberry dessert tart and the dishes had been cleared, Rudyard rose to make a speech to the guests. All attention turned to him as he cleared his throat, save Erik's, whose attention remained solely on Christine.

All Erik could surmise was that Rudyard invited the guests to resume dancing, as the chamber group began to play once again. "Thank you all for coming, and have an excellent night," finished Rudyard.

As couples vacated the dining room in favor of the ballroom, something deep within Erik motivated him to ask, "Would you like to dance, madame?"

Christine smiled up at him. How exciting! She had not danced at any of the balls or galas since she could remember. "I would."

"Excellent," he murmured, rising from his chair and extended a gloved hand to her. "Come along…"

----------

Rudyard gazed down at his beautiful wife; he still was unsure of how he would be able to part with her tomorrow, and for months at a time. The timing of this mission was damnable as well; during the months he was away, his child would be born — their child, and it pained him to think he would miss the birth of their first son or daughter…and Meg looked more beautiful than ever; he wanted nothing more than to be with her during this time. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "You are absolutely radiant."

"Thank you," replied Meg, smiling softly. Oh, how she loved her husband, and dreaded seeing him go away. He brought out qualities in her that no one else ever could, and she felt absolutely comfortable with him; she hated the very idea that she would be losing that for some time, for a year, maybe, and while she was pregnant, too. But she knew that he would not enjoy this any more than she, and that he had no choice in the matter…She would have to be strong for him.

Nestling her head against her husband's chest, Meg surveyed the other couples on the dance floor, and was beyond shocked to find Christine dancing with the masked man, Erik Deveraux. "Rudyard?" she asked, looking up at him. "What on earth is Christine doing with that Deveraux man?"

"Dancing, I presume," he replied lightly.

"She has never danced with another man before," Meg said suspiciously. "Why him?"

"Erik is quite a charming gentleman." He took in her expression with amusement. "Do not look so alarmed."

"But…she is married. And just look at the way they're looking at each other!" It was true enough that Erik and Christine were not gazing at each other with the usual cool politeness that one finds between two people who are dancing and yet are not involved with each other in any way, and Meg found this perfect cause for alarm.

Rudyard glanced over at the pair, surprised to find them both smiling at each other…Erik Deveraux, smiling? Genuinely smiling? Very odd indeed…but it was not as if they could fall for each other after some polite dinner conversation and a bit of dancing; there was no need to be alarmed as of now; it was a positive thing that they seemed to be getting along, as Christine tended to be rather depressed, and the same could be said of Erik. "Carrying a cheerful expression on one's continence is not unusual, Meg."

"It is for the the pair of them; you know that Christine hardly ever smiles, and Monsieur Deveraux does not seem like the type to, either. And just look at the way he's holding her! They're far too close for mere acquaintances," she said prudishly. "Why, they're as close as you and I are."

He chuckled, leaning down and pressing kisses to each of her cheeks. "Darling, you're being quite a prude." Though when he glanced over, he did notice that Erik was holding Christine quite…tenderly. Or perhaps it was just his imagination.

"Well," she said, a blush rising in her cheeks, "you cannot deny that there is more between them than there should be, what with her being married…"

"To Raoul."

"Well…yes, to the vicomte," she said, clearing her throat uncomfortably, "but still, it is a marriage nonetheless. But you're right, darling, I shouldn't dwell on this. It's probably…nothing."

A/N: Please review


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you so much for the positive feedback; it is very encouraging.

Vanessa: Thank you, we greatly appreciate the compliment :)

On with the chap.

--Chels

_**Chapter Two**_

Christine sat beside Meg in the parlor of the Castelot-Barbezac home, sipping on her tea, as she and Meg waited for their husbands to finish up their last minute packing. Meg was in tears; she was positively a mess, but looked more beautiful than ever…she always seemed to have that glow about her; Christine felt a fresh wave of envy wash over her.

She began to mull over the previous night's events, for either the third or fourth time that morning, she could not be sure. She and Erik Deveraux had danced for the remainder of the ball, until it had ended and she began to bid goodbye to the required people, until only she and Monsieur Deveraux had remained — Raoul had been nowhere in sight, but that had been what she had expected. They had stepped out into the garden then, and had had quite a lovely conversation…at least until Raoul had stumbled into the picture hours later, drunk and smelling of a woman's perfume. It was at that time that she had been forced to bid him goodnight, ending the best evening she had been able to enjoy in a very long time.

"How will I survive without him?" moaned Meg, the tears she had fought so hard spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks.

"You will, Meg, you will…" Christine murmured as gently as possible, patting her hand. "You won't be completely without him; he will be able to send letters, and receive them."

"Yes, but he won't be able to hold me in his arms," sobbed Meg. "Or feel our baby kick." She flung herself at Christine, her shoulders shaking with passionate sobs. The dreadful, _dreadful_ timing of this trip, right during when their first baby was to be born! She, Meg, would deliver Rudyard's child with he miles away from her. The very thought made her cry even harder.

Christine sighed, rubbing Meg's back. "Oh, Meg…it will be alright…They will come home as soon as they can."

"But he won't be back before the birth of the baby! I'll be all alone!"

"No you won't…I'll be there."

Meg continued to cry into Christine's shoulder until her husband appeared in the doorway, trunk in tow, his air somber.

"Meg, dear, please come here," he said quietly. "Don't act so mopey in front of your friend."

Meg did not need to be told twice; she rose from the couch and flew into Rudyard's arms, her sobs and pleas muffled as she nestled her head against his chest. "It's alright," he cooed softly, just as Raoul entered the room.

"We should be off soon," he announced to the room over Rudyard's comforting words.

"Quite right, I'm afraid," agreed Rudyard, turning his attention to his friend, though still holding Meg in his arms.

"Are you going to bid me goodbye, Christine?" asked Raoul in a slightly mocking fashion.

Christine sighed, reluctantly rising from the settee and crossing the room to where her husband stood. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed a quick peck to his cheek. "Goodbye, Raoul," she murmured stiffly.

"Goodbye, Christine. I'm sure I will be missed." A smirk on his lips, he turned his attention to Rudyard and Meg, who were still entangled.

"You can't leave me," pleaded Meg softly.

Raoul cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable; at least Christine had not acted as Meg was. But of course, if she had acted in the same manner, Raoul would be questioning the condition of her mental health. He and the viscountess were not affectionate in the slightest, after all, quite the opposite at times, of Raoul's own initiation.

"I'll take care of your trunk, Rudyard," he mumbled, taking hold of the trunk handle and pushing past Christine to make his way to the idling carriage outside.

"I'll…be in the kitchen," muttered Christine, exiting the room hurriedly, for she did not wish to intrude upon the tender scene.

"It's only for a little while, sweetheart," Rudyard murmured softly, "I'll be home before you know it…"

"I hope so," she said, closing her eyes, causing more tears to spring from her eyes. "He said you have to go…Give me a kiss goodbye."

He gave her a small smile of reassurance, before cupping her face in his hands and placing a long, tender kiss to her lips. "I love you." He moved to kneel before her, pressing a kiss to her belly. "And I love you as well."

"By the time you return, we'll have a baby," she said, smiling through her tears and placing a small hand on his shoulder. "Something to look forward to…I love you."

Pressing one last kiss to her belly, he straightened up, wrapping an arm around her waist; his free hand resting on her stomach. "You know I wouldn't leave unless I had no other choice. I want nothing more to be here with you and the baby…"

"Yes, I know," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I understand. We'll be fine, Trust me." She pressed a light kiss to his lips. "Go on now; you can't be late. Do write."

"Everyday that I can. I promise." He kissed her lips once more, holding her close. "I love you so…"

"And I love you… Go on," she said, trying not to let me see the fresh tears welling in her eyes. "Monsieur de Chagny is waiting."

----------

Following Rudyard's carefully laid out instructions, Erik made his way through the light London rain from his home to the de Chagny estate, where he was told the women would now be, the men having left earlier that day; Erik had always enjoyed the rain, and the two houses were close enough to simply walk. Just outside the city, the residences were connected by a country dirt road, a good sized field laying between them.

As the rain turned the slightest bit more violent, Erik reached the entrance to the estate and rapped his gloved knuckles against the ornately carved wood of the front door.

Who on earth would be calling…? Christine set down the book she had been reading, beginning to make her way to the front door. It wasn't as if she knew anyone who would call on her; most, even all, of their callers were for Raoul, save Meg, and it had been announced that he was out of the country for business.

Looking through the door's peephole, she saw Erik Deveraux standing there. Curious. Undoing the lock heavy lock, she threw open the door. "Monsieur Deveraux," she greeted warmly, "what a surprise."

Erik frantically raked his mind for a reason, trying not to allow himself to be distracting by how lovely she looked, her blouse a crisp white and her skirt a rich navy blue. "Oh, I thought I'd drop in to be certain that you and the baroness were doing alright after your husbands' departure. May I come in? Or, of course, you could turn me away," he added with a slight smile. "Whichever your prefer."

She smiled, opening the door wider and beckoning him inside. "Please, come in."

He stepped inside the house, removing his lightly soaked cloak and hat. "I don't mean to intrude; I'm just…concerned."

"That is kind of you. We're both fine, although Meg is quite upset…"

"Yes, that is to be expected; she and the baron are quite close, indeed. Where is she?"

"Upstairs resting at the moment. Come, let us move into the parlor. May I get you anything?"

"Oh, I am fine. I really hope you don't mind my dropping in, but I thought you could use a bit of company."

"I could indeed," she replied warmly with a smile.


End file.
